A Legend Of The Strand

'Tis said an author who had starved to death, Went walking, sume years after he had lost his breath. In spirit up Fleet St., then down the Strand, And found himself before a bookman's stand. "What'sthis?" hemused.as in his hand A book He took. "Dear me, my verse 1" he cried and ki3sed tne tome "You killed me - costme hearth and home. To publlsh you I speut My every cent. No man would bny. Was soon a s adow of my former self. Whilst you lay sniigly on my dusty shelf, Heighoi" hesighed. "Thou wert mv pride, And ruin." Quoth the book : "Notso! You died too soon to really know. I have become A rarity and worth a wondrous snm. And ihrough me now You wear the laurel on your brow! E'en as the volume spake A mortal carne, the little book did take, And as the spirit watched him from the shade Some twenty pounds for it he paid. "Egad ! " the author cried, as back he sped To Hades. "I have on my head Enough of hay eutwined to feed a horse! I'm proud of it- oh yes. I am, of course- But what ahame to decórate An author's pate . And leave his stomach to disintegrate. John Kendrick Bangs, In Ha:per's Magazine.